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“'If Mayor Bloomberg wants to name something, he can name Bloomberg L.P. Koch L.P.,'” said Councilman Jumaane D. Williams of Brooklyn, referring to the mayor’s media conglomerate."
—Some people really don't want the Queensboro Bridge renamed for Ed Koch. It's a fair point that the Brooklyn Bridge wouldn't get renamed for a Mayor, certainly not a living one—but then the Queensboro Bridge isn't exactly the Brooklyn Bridge now, is it? In other news, maybe by noon we'll come up with the right joke about Koch and Queens.
Donald Manes Bridge probably never stood a chance.
There's just something about "The Ed Koch Bridge Song" that really rolls off the tongue.
The jokes would be a lot easier if "Koch" rhymed with "lock" rather than "watch."
Let's see…..Lanes, traffic, toll bridges, potholes, bald-headed asexual windbags…Nope, I got nothing.
How many people, other than the guy in the WCBS 880 traffic helocopter and the pedants at Wikipedia, now refer to the Triborough Bridge as the "Robert F. Kennedy Bridge"?
Does it beat the Brooklyn Bridge? Maybe not. Is the Chrysler Building better than the Flatiron or Empire State? Matter of taste.
Is anything to do with Queens tainted with snobbery because for god knows why I can't figure, Brooklyn got cool sometime a ways back? Maybe. Queens doesn't have brownstones, though I'm sure brick attached garden apartment houses will be as cool in 25 years as brownstones got to be in the 70's (I grew up in a brownstone. In the 50's-early 60's, you couldn't give them away.)Ed Koch was my Congressman when I was a kid. He would literally stand at subway stations in non-election years, talking to constituents and taking names and phone numbers so he and his staff could follow up on problems. Then the money vampires got his neck.
Grammy is rambling, so I'll stop. But no, Ed, you don't get the bridge.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queens
Wait – the 59th Street Bridge is being renamed?
The above is just a joke.It's actually going to be American Girl Bridge, and a giant barrette, probably pale turquoise, will be installed on the Manhattan side tower.
Over the great bridge, with the sunlight through the girders making a constant flicker upon the moving cars, with the city rising up across the river in white heaps and sugar lumps all built with a wish out of non-olfactory money. The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and the beauty in the world.
A dead man passed us in a hearse heaped with blooms, followed by two carriages with drawn blinds, and by more cheerful carriages for friends. The friends looked out at us with the tragic eyes and short upper lips of southeastern Europe, and I was glad that the sight of Gatsby’s splendid car was included in their sombre holiday. As we crossed Blackwell’s Island a limousine passed us, driven by a white chauffeur, in which sat three modish negroes, two bucks and a girl. I laughed aloud as the yolks of their eyeballs rolled toward us in haughty rivalry.
“Anything can happen now that we’ve slid over this bridge,” I thought; “anything at all. . . .”
I don't call it "Ronald Reagan National" and I don't call it the "RFK Bridge". I will never, ever call it the "the Koch" or the awful, awful "E.K.Q.B."